


Breath of a Butterfly's Wings

by Ismatscaff



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Author is aroace enby, Canon Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), F/F, F/M, Finger guns, God i love being able to use that tag i don't get to a lot lmao, I gave Sasha and Jon my ADHD bc they give me ADHD vibes, M/M, MOST of them live, Not A Fix-It, Will add tags as I go, also aro Sasha bc I saw that in a fic and YES, but listen, check for content warnings at the beginning of chapters, she and Tim are queer plutonic, which reminds me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:43:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28544250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ismatscaff/pseuds/Ismatscaff
Summary: What if we unwound the story of the Archives, tore out the tape, clipped and rearranged it. If two hands clung together and fled where they'd previously let go. If worms burrowed in one where they had another. If four made it out where only three had. A butterfly beats its wings and a spider spins her web just a few strands different. The eye has two where it had one. And it all spirals but just one to the left.Aka, the one where Sasha James lives but it doesn't fix everything
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	Breath of a Butterfly's Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings for: worms, burrowing, blood, removing worms as canonical, descriptions of injuries, gore, body horror (it's jane), rot, throwing up, descriptions of sensory overload, anxiety/anxiety attack, thoughts of self harm, fighting, self depreciation, references to drug and alcohol use, implied substance abuse, Elias taking perverse pleasure feeding off team archives bc Ben said "I'm very intimate with Beholding" in bloopers and i fucking ran with that, babes

"What are you doing?!" Sasha cried from behind him. 

Jon ignored her, reaching for the worm free corner of the still spinning tape recorder and inching it towards him with the barest tips of his fingers, "Almost-" 

"Leave it, it's--" 

"Got it!" Jon held the tape recorder aloft and then promptly tripped backwards out of his office.

Sasha caught him under the arms and, once he'd regained equilibrium, started to knock loose worms from him, stomping on them once they hit the ground.

Behind him he heard footsteps and Martin start to say, "is everything alri- Oh Christ." 

Jon shook worms off the tape recorder before taking over the duty of getting them off of himself while Sasha continued to stomp, dark viscera oozing into the floorboards, "Shut up and get the extinguishers!" 

"What?" Jon threw a glance over his shoulder. Martin's eyes were wide as they took in the outpour of worms from Jon's office, mouth slightly agape. For a second too long he was frozen. But then his gaze caught on Jon's and he shut his mouth with a click, "R-right, right, right-"

"Get the CO2, get the goddamn CO2, _NOW!_ " Jon plowed over Martin's stuttering response.

Martin practically dove for his desk and hauled out a fire extinguisher. Because of course he had a fire extinguisher under his desk. He fumbled with the pin as he rushed over and started spraying at the onslaught of worms encroaching on Jon and Sasha. His voice shook as he sprayed down one wave, only for more worms to overtake the dead and dying and advance into the Archives, "There's too many!"

"Just keep spraying!" Sasha said, looking around frantic, as Martin was pushed a few steps back by the wave of worms. 

"We need to go!" 

"Where?!" Sasha cried, her eyes flashing as she turned to him.

Jon hadn't yet gotten to that part of their daring escape, "Uhhh, uhhh."

Martin's head snapped to look back at Jon, the aim of the fire extinguisher drifting down and away from the worms. Then he swung back to the worms with a squeak and sprayed with more fervor. They were being pushed back at an alarming rate, cornering themselves as Martin fought to hold the line with his single extinguisher. The path to the stairwell was being rapidly cut off by the worms, and the spray from the extinguisher was already beginning to thin.

"Damn!" Sasha's eyes darted from Martin's dying extinguisher and the flood of worms, to the door.

"Jus-just let me think!" Jon, hands waving at the air by his temples as if it'd make his brain work any faster. It didn't. He was breathing too much and the worms were so goddamn loud and the spray of the fire extinguisher was grating on him and he just wanted to yell at it all to shut up and let him think.

Martin took another step back, and Jon and Sasha were quick to follow suit. Jon could no longer see the hole that he'd made in the wall and his heart beat spiked with adrenaline. The only thing worse than seeing the devil--

"Do you see Prentiss? If we can get her--" Sasha started to ask. 

\--was only seeing the devil's worm entourage, _stupid!_ Jon kicked himself for losing the forest for the trees, could they even take her down with a single extinguisher? Sasha had been able to with Timothy Hodge, but he was willing to bet there'd been a few less worms when she'd followed Michael to the cemetery and she'd had a full canister--

"I don't see her, I don't see her, I don't see her!" Martin said, voice getting louder and more unsteady with each repetition. He was visibly shaking.

"Uhh," Jon offered, stalling as if he were a dying car on the M15. 

"Jon," Sasha said. He could feel her eyes boring into him. 

Martin's extinguisher sputtered out.

"Jon!" 

Martin threw the empty canister at the worms and squashed a meager handful, before it was swallowed up by the wriggling, silver mass and Jon could swear he could see the red paint bubble and flake. Martin grabbed Jon's arm and the sleeve of Sasha's yellow sweater and broke into a run, "This way! Come on! Come this way!"

Jon stiffened at the unexpected touch, and Martin dropped his arm. Sasha grabbed Martin's sweater sleeve in turn and kept pace with him. Jon slowed without Martin's momentum drawing him forward. They were running towards the storage room Martin had been living in, but they'd only be further trapping themselves--

Behind him the wet slide of the worms him grew in volume and propelled him after them. Martin flung the door open and Sasha charged in. Jon was barely halfway to the door, knees reminding him why he didn't participate in physical activity and his lungs heaving protests of their own. 

"This way, this way!" Martin continued, waving for Jon to hurry.

He felt a sharp ping of irritation at that. He was going as fast as he could, the worms at his heels driving him forward. He caught movement from behind the larger man. A filing cabinet teetered, silver winking from the drawers that rolled open a little further with each pass and there was Martin, his eyes wild with fear, the loose ringlets of his hair sticking up in places, attention focussed on Jon. Jon felt himself sprinting and shouted, "LOOK OUT!" 

Jon slammed into Martin, sending him stumbling into the storage room. The filing cabinet hit the ground, metal siding groaning and buckling where the dull olive green had corroded and rusted. Worms and papers scattered across the floor. Jon went to pull the door shut when he realized both hands were empty. 

"Jon!"

Just a yard away, by Sasha's desk laying face down was the tape recorder. He made to lunge for it when a thick arm snaked around his middle and he was yanked back. 

There was a sharp pain in his leg and he cried out just as Martin pulled the door shut. 

~

"Jon, what the _hell_ was that?!" Sasha demanded. 

"Oh shit, shit, shit," Martin said.

Sasha felt her irritation flare up, clamoring for attention in the vortex of adrenaline and fear and she wanted to yank her hair out and dig her nails into her skin and _rip_ just for it all to be _quiet_ , "What _now_?"

"Worms!" Martin replied, unwinding his arm from around Jon. He pushed Jon behind him and stamped at the ground, making quick work of them.

Sasha turned on Jon, "You better have a very good reason for endangering our lives like this." 

"The tape recorder, I dropped-" 

"Seriously?" 

"Okay, in hindsight maybe it wasn't a wise decis--" 

"You _think_?!" 

"I'm sorry!" Jon said. It was silent in the storage room. Sasha narrowed her eyes at him and pursed her lips. From the corner of her eye she could see Martin's eyes the size and roundness of dinner plates as they shot from her to Jon. He was going to stretch out his sweater sleeves with all the tugging he was doing at the cuffs. Jon shifted his weight and coughed, "You're right, I shouldn't have tried going back for it. It was… a selfish act that needlessly endangered all of us. I'm sorry." 

Sasha have him a long, hard look. He shifted under her gaze. His dark eyes alternated between the ground, meeting her eyes and the general direction of Martin. He fiddled with the rolled up sleeve of his rumpled dress shirt. She let out a sigh, "Good." 

"I, er, I have a tape recorder? If-if-if having one's that important, I have one," Martin said, his voice high as he tugged at his ear lobe, eyes meeting neither Sasha or Jon's, but tracing patterns in the concrete floor of the storage room. 

Jon blinked at him, "Oh. That'd- I'd appreciate it. Thank you. Martin." 

Martin blinked at Jon. Then he was all fast words and frantic movement, "Right then, um, do you need a tape? Oh, of course you need a tape, stupid, give me a second I-" 

Sasha folded her arms and was watching as Martin tripped over himself when Jon let out a cry. His right leg folded under him and he dropped to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He yanked up the leg of his trousers, blood smearing up his leg as he did so, unveiling three twitching, silver worms chewing their way into his achilles tendon. She saw him reaching for their writhing forms and shouted, " _DON'T_!"

Jon froze, fingers flexing above them.

  
  


Sasha knelt next to him and shooed away his hovering hands, "If you try pulling them off, you'll squeeze the body and they'll regurgitate whatever their last meal was into you. At least that's what ticks do anyway, and they aren't creatures of the supernatural. I don't think so at least. Martin, do you have anything we could get the worms-"

"Here!" Martin shoved a corkscrew at Sasha before ducking under his cot. He slid a tool box and a dusty stack of user manuals out from under it. 

Sasha opened her mouth, a question on her lips, but then Jon let out a strangled cry, and she just unfolded the corkscrew. She took a shaky, grounding breath, this was one thing to focus on, she could do just this one thing, "This'll hurt, just- just hold still." 

Jon let out a whimper as she twisted it into the entrance of one of the wounds. She grimaced but continued to wind it in. As soon as the worm's body went limp, she began the process of unspooling it from Jon's leg. 

Beside her, Martin slid a duffle bag of a first aid kit and a tape recorder that was mostly duct tape and cracked plastic over to her. He paused, hovering and uncertain. She could feel him watch as she flung the first worm off the corkscrew and started into another. Jon was more vocal as she had to crank the corkscrew in deeper than the last. 

Martin unzipped the first aid kit, coughing at the plume of dust it expelled, and pulled out rubbing alcohol, gauze, medical tape, gloves and packaged q-tips. 

Sasha removed the second worm and started into the last. 

Martin, done with his self assigned task of setting out medical supplies, started fiddling with the tape recorder, "Right, right, okay, um, blank tape, here we go, and, oh why is it not doing anything? I know I put fresh batteries in- Right, of course, stupid, p-power button. And… there we go. Recording again. Did you get them?" 

Jon let out a yell.

"Yes," Sasha knocked loose the final worm from the corkscrew to the floor, "And I am going to point out that I didn’t make this much of a fuss."

Jon peeled open his eyes and lifted a shaking had to wipe at tears staining his cheeks as he gasped out, "I think your removal was substantially cleaner." 

Martin grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol and promptly poured it into each of the wounds. Jon sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed his eyes shut again. 

"Sorry," Martin mumbled. He gloved up and broke the q-tips from their packaging to dab out the worm slime and blood from the wounds.

"I’m still not sure why you have this," Sasha held up the now bloodied corkscrew and made a stab at levity, "Drinking in the Archives?"

"What?" Martin's brow folded and he glanced at her before going back to the delicate task of clearing out the leftover worm gunk, "No, no, it's for the worms."

"What?" Jon squinted at Martin.

Sasha wasn't sure if the squinting was due to confusion or the fact that Jon's eyes were still wet with tears. He made another swipe at his eyes. 

"For pulling the worms out of people. Like now," Martin said, gesturing to Jon's steadily bleeding leg before taking a small gauze pad and wiping away said blood. 

Jon looked over to Sasha, confusion knotting his eyebrows together. 

She wasn't any more clear on what that meant and tentatively asked, "Sorry, er, I still don't quite get it? Why not a knife or, or scissors or something? I know Tim has a pair and the break room has plenty of knives to choose from." 

"I used to carry around a knife, but I started thinking that, well, cutting into someone laterally wasn’t really the most efficient way to get them out, and besides which, they seem to be quite slow burrowing in a straight line? So, given their size, th-the corkscrew just seemed to be the better option." Martin's eyes ping ponged between Sasha and Jon. "Look, you guys got to go home every day, okay. I didn’t! I’ve been thinking for a long time about what to do when… well, y’know, this happens!'

"Well," Jon worked his jaw before letting out a sigh. He met Martin's eyes, "Thank you."

Martin flushed and busied himself with wrapping Jon's ankle in gauze. 

"Is that why we're here?" Sasha asked when it didn't seem like either of them were going to carry any conversation of their own. 

"What? Oh, yeah, the room's sealed. Checked when I moved in."

Sasha scanned the room, noting the boxes, cot and shelving units that were all scooted a handful of inches from the walls. It bordered on the claustrophobic, but did make it quite convenient to check over. A glance at the heavy bags bruising his lower lids told her Martin probably checked more than just when he'd moved in. 

"Climate controlled, as well. Strong door. Soundproof," Jon let out the embittered ghost of a laugh, edging on manic, "These old files are far better protected than we ever were. Alright, I’ll grant you it’s a good place to lay low, but--"

"They could still come through the air con," Sasha started to stand, scouting for something to stuff the vent with, growing frustrated as she remembered that they'd loaded Martin's laundry into Tim's car for cleaning that morning. 

Jon shook his head, "Not easily. And… not en masse. It is actually safe." 

"Ha!" 

"Except of course that we're trapped." 

Sasha watched the bravado drop from Martin's shoulders, "Ah. Yeah. Sorry." 

Silence fell over the room like a weighted blanket, but with none of the comfort and beginning to feel smothering instead of soothing. So she settled onto the cot and asked, "Why record it? Before, in the office. It was stupid going for the tape recorder like that, and then when you dropped it out there--" 

"I said I was sorry," Jon bit out, hunching in on himself like a cat raising its hackles, "If I’d known Martin had another one stashed in here, I never would have--" 

"No, it’s, it’s fine, just… I just don’t understand," Sasha closed her eyes and took a deep breath to soothe the frustration attempting to make a resurgence as Jon shuffled the blame off on Martin. On the exhale, she opened her eyes and continued, "I thought you hated the damn thing. You’re always going on about it." 

Jon shifted his weight from one side to the other, "I do! I did. I just… I don’t want to become a mystery. I refuse to become another goddamn mystery."

"What?" Sasha looked to Martin.

Martin let his shoulders twitch in a minute shrug, barely shaking his head.

Just as lost as her then. Damn it. 

"Look, even if you ignore the walking soil-sack out there, and the fact that we are probably minutes from death, there is still so much more happening here," Jon waved a hand at the air and drawing her from her thoughts, "Every real statement just leads… deeper into something I don’t even know the shape of yet. And to top it all, I still don’t know what happened to Gertrude. Officially, she’s still missing, but Elias is no help and the police were pretty clear that the wait to call her dead is just a formality. If I die, wormfood or… something else, whatever, I’m going to make damn sure the same doesn’t happen to me. Whoever takes over from me is going to know exactly what happened."

"You don't think that'd put them off?"

Jon let out a chuckle that was toeing the line of crying, "I hope so. Only an idiot would stay in this job." 

Sasha's jaw clenched. 

"Wouldn't that make you an idiot?" Martin countered, his voice laced with the same defensiveness Sasha was feeling. 

Sasha's eyebrows shot up. She made a note that maybe he had more of a spine than she'd given him credit for. He'd still be the first to die if this was a horror flick. 

Jon levelled him with a tired, irritated look, " _Yes_ , Martin, that was rather my point." 

With yet another lull settling around them, Sasha asked, "Can you see what's going on out there?" 

Whoever had installed the door to the storage room, they had not made the window for people a little over 160 centimeters. From her position on the cot, she had a lovely view of the florescent lights and tiled ceiling. She thought she could see one of the pencils Tim had managed to get stuck in the cork board panels. Quite a feat considering how high the ceiling was. She could still remember Martin cowering in the door and frantically hissing for Tim to stop before he got caught and then chasing his own anxiety in circles when she'd mentioned that Tim was on a fast track to losing an eye as yet another pencil clattered to his desk. 

Martin, at 183 centimeters and whatever millimeters on the other hand, had to duck down to look through the window. He adjusted his glasses before making a face, "Ish. When did we last clean this door?" 

"I think there's some windex under the break room sink if you're willing to battle the worms for it," Sasha said. 

Martin fixed her with a look. 

"What can you see?" Jon asked softly, a gentle curiosity in his tone.

"Worms seem to have backed off a bit. There’s a few lurking in the corners. Ooh, ooh hey, there’s the other tape recorder!" 

Sasha rolled her eyes and caught Jon doing the same. 

"Any sign of Prentiss?"

Martin slowly shook his head, "No, no, it looks like they're waiting," he glanced back at her, "I think."

"For what?" Jon scrunched his face in response. 

"I don't know. Tim maybe?" 

"Oh god!" Sasha dropped her head into her hands. Of course, Tim! He hadn't been down when the wall had burst in Jon's office, where had she last seen him, the library for cross reference and passable wifi or maybe--

"I think he was out at lunch," Martin's eyes were frantic, his shoulders creeping up towards his ears. 

Sasha started patting down her pockets, "Quick, somebody call him. Tell him not to come back in!" 

"There's no signal in here!" Jon trained his eyes on the floor. He swallowed thickly before adding, "We just have to hope he heard the noise." 

Sasha took several deep, measured breaths. She needed a distraction from her friend's likely impending doom. Tim wasn't always the most observant and he'd seemed stressed earlier which always made him even less observant-- no, stop, distraction, she needed a distraction, a focus. She processed what Jon had said and wetted her lips, "Jon. What do you mean by real statements?"

"You know what I mean," Jon scrubbed a hand across his eyes, missing the look she and Martin exchanged, "The ones that have weird wrinkles, or that just seem to have something solid to them. They all have one thing in common." 

"They don't record digitally," Sasha said. She remembered having this discussion with Tim and Martin only a few weeks into digitizing the Archives. Both had wholeheartedly agreed with her, much faster than she'd been expecting from either. Not that she'd been expecting them not to, they were all employees at the Magnus Institute after all. But it had sounded a little silly when she'd said it out loud. They'd started marking all the ones that didn't and Sasha had a system of colour coded sticky notes mapping them all out at her flat. 

"And we have to use the tape recorder. Honestly at this stage if it records to my laptop I almost don't bother. I don't--" 

"There!" Martin crowded against the glass of the door's window, "There, there, there! I see him!" 

Sasha was up and across the room, pushing into Martin's space and up on her tiptoes to peer through the window herself. Martin shuffled aside and added for Jon's benefit, "Tim, Tim's outside." 

"Oh god," Sasha watched as he walked to his desk, half a wrapped sandwich in one hand and several pages he was thoroughly engrossed in in his other hand. She watched as he took a bite out of the sandwich, eyes never leaving the page. From the corners, the worms twitched to life, "He doesn't see them, he doesn't know!" 

Sasha smacked at the door, Martin quickly following suit as they both shouted at Tim. Distantly Sasha heard Jon say, "It's soundproofed, he can't hear you!" 

Tim looked up from the paper in front of his face and frowned at something on the ground. He set down the pages and his sandwich, Sasha grateful Jon couldn't see Tim putting food on his desk what with Martin's tea being barely permissible, and walked towards the storage room door. For a moment her heart soared. Then almost as quickly it plummeted to her stomach as he stopped and crouched down. She stretched up on her toes as far as she could and could just see him flip over the tape recorder Jon had dropped. 

"What is he doing? No, Tim, just run! Leave it!" Sasha's hands were numb from hitting the door. 

From beside her Martin breathed in sharply and drew away her attention. His eyes were wide and not focussed on Tim at all. Sasha turned back to the window as he started to mumble, "Oh no, no, no, no…"

All around Tim, silver worms started wriggling from their hiding places, from under the desks, out of waste paper bins, drawers, from case file boxes and dropping down from the stacks. And they were all converging on a somehow oblivious Tim. 

"Turn around. Just turn around," Sasha pleaded. 

Tim was smiling down at the tape recorder. 

Martin took half a step away from the door, "Oh god. There she is, there she is."

And there she was. Jane Prentiss, a death count of at least nine people, spilling worms as she juddered out of the office. Her skin shifted and pulsed, every now and again bursting in places to ooze pus and a liquid that might have been blood were it not so dark and thick with worms. Her matted hair swayed into her puffy and bloodshot eyes as her mouth hung open in a grin to reveal black teeth and a gray-green tongue. She steadily made her way to Tim, a feat Sasha marveled at for someone more holes than person. 

From behind her, Jon muttered, "There's nothing we can do." 

Rage flooded her system and snapped her from her trance watching Jane Prentiss. It was tempered with determination and came out as sheer spite. Maybe Jon or Martin couldn't do anything, but she wasn't either of them. 

"Screw this," she pushed Martin back and opened the door, "Tim, look out!" 

~

Tim's head snapped up from the recorder in his grasp and he rose, eyebrows pinching together, "Sasha?" 

She stood in the now open door of the storage room, and he caught a glimpse of Martin before she was yelling again, "Behind you! Run!" 

Tim turned to see Jane bearing down on him. It was only then that he smelled the musty damp in the Archives and saw the veritable army of worms surrounding him. Barely with a breath to sustain it he said, "Oh."

Tim lifted his arms and she was saying something to him but it was so garbled and all he could do was watch worms and rot dribble from what was once her throat and then suddenly he was sent crashing into Prentiss, sending worm and woman alike flying. Jane scrambled to get a hold of him, but Sasha was beside him and aimed a kick at her shoulder which gave with a crunch and wet pop, worms gushed forth from the joint, buoyed by a dark, viscous fluid. It reeked like the silt of the Thames. Tim could remember the smell from when Danny had been in secondary school and was dared to jump in. H felt a pang of grief but then Sasha was grabbing his hand and dragged him until he was running with her through the rolling stacks of the Archives. 

She was charging to the main door showing no sign of slowing when Tim saw one of the stacks begin to groan and teeter, sending a spray of worms raining down from it's upper shelves. The metal buckled and Sasha was in the shadow of the stack when Tim felt himself moving. He dropped her hand to wrap his arms around her waist and then they were slamming into the ground and Tim felt his arm give under the both of them as they slid across the floor, the stack connecting where they had been only moments before. Silver worms burst from case file boxes, stacks of paper sliding out in wet clumps of yellow and rust brown, black spots blooming-- 

Sasha yanked him to his feet by the arm that had given under their combined weight and Tim let out a cry. There was a pop and his vision whited out for a moment. He felt light headed, cheeks cold, and Sasha was shouting and hauling him with his uninjured arm over her shoulders, her arm around his waist. 

And then they were bursting through the stairwell door. Sound began filtering in as his ears remembered to work and Sasha was frantically saying, "-m? Tim, talk to me, what's- what's going on, are you okay?" 

Tim lurched from her grasp and to the rail and upended the sandwich he'd been halfway through when he'd come back to the Archives. 

"Tim, Tim we've got to keep going, we need to--" 

He turned his head as she cut off and saw her yank the yellowed white plastic pull to set off the fire alarm. 

"Shit," Tim said. He could feel himself shaking, knees feeling like jelly, "Shit, was that--" 

"Prentiss," Sasha nodded. She reached for his arm pausing just outside of touching, "We need to keep going, are you-- can--"

The door to the stairwell began to rattle, worms squeezing from under the door.

Tim switched the tape recorder to his injured arm and took her hand, letting her lead him up the stairs, "What about Jon and Martin?" 

"They're safe in the storage room. It's sealed, soundproof, climate controlled, the whole nine yards- Why is the fire suppression system not going off?" Sasha glared up at the ceiling as they made their way up another flight of stairs. 

"No clue. H-hang on, how did Jane Prentiss get into the Archives?" Tim asked. 

Sasha shook her head, "Not much more of a clue. Jon tried killing a spider and it made a shelf collapse--"

"Hazards of IKEA furniture." 

"--which put a hole in the wall. I went to check on the noise and there was something behind the wall, like, like it was just a drywall panel the shelving had punched through separating Jon's office from a room or hall or something. I don't know, I didn't get a good look because that's when the worms came pouring out of the hole. It doesn't make sense, Jon's office wall should have been an exterior wall, you wouldn't just build a wall with only a single panel of drywall!" 

"Maybe she disassembled the wall?" Tim offered. It sounded weak even to his ears and Sasha glanced back at him, her eyebrows raised. He winced. In a lower, more quiet voice he asked, "Reckon she's been here since Martin escaped his flat?" 

Sasha stopped, Tim nearly running into her, " _Oh_." 

"What's 'oh' about?'" 

"Jon said that after Martin gave his statement he got a text from Martin's phone from Prentiss," Sasha started up the stairs again, ascending with more fervor as if her revelation was powering her. It could also have been that the door leading onto the first floor of the Institute was now in sight. 

"Right," Tim said, though he didn't have the foggiest what she was driving at. He was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, taking a puff or two of a spliff in the parking lot during his break was a bad idea. It certainly wasn't helping his current state. 

"There's no service in the Archives, no cell service at least. But there is internet service. It's patchy at best, but that's enough if your phone can send messages using internet. And proximity can help deliver messages between devices faster. I listened to the tape, after Martin finished his statement, Jon tells him he's been getting messages from Martin's phone. And then they _immediately_ get a text from Prentiss," Sasha finished by shoving open the door. 

"Oh fuck off," Tim said. Thinking she'd been there the entire time, only a drywall panel away from them. Every night they'd left Martin in the Archives, scant centimeters away from his tormentor of near two weeks. He was angry and exhausted and adrenaline was punching through his veins and he felt like he might be sick again. The weed was definitely a bad idea. 

She spared a glance at him and grimaced in agreement. She tightened her grip as he swayed a little and then they were pushing into the main floor of the Institute. 

"Ah, Sasha, Tim, wonderful, have Jon and Martin already evacuated? Or are they still on their way?" 

Sasha dragged him behind her as she made a beeline towards Elias, "No, they're trapped in the storage room wi-" 

"Oh god lord, it isn't the Archives that are on fire is it?" Elias continued his steady march towards the lobby doors. 

"There's no fire-"

Elias raised a hand at her and once more cut her off, "I do believe the alarm would indicate otherwise, Sasha. The workers did test the system after installation and found it to be perfectly functional. I sincerely doubt it would go off without reason."

"We set it off!" Tim snapped, glaring at his boss. He did not have the brain power to be cordial to the man, sexist, condescending prick he was.

Elias blinked his nearly electric green eyes at Tim before he folded his arms and said, "You do realize that is a serious infraction? I'm not just speaking of institute code, it's-" 

"Jane Prentiss is in the Archives, Elias," Sasha cutting him off this time, "Worms are flooding the institute as we speak! We barely made it out of the Archives and Jon and Martin are still down there. The fire alarm was for the worms!" 

"Are these the worms he and Martin have been going on about?"

"You mean the ones that've been terrorizing us for months?" Tim snorted, glaring at Elias, "Yeah, _them_." 

"To be honest I always thought they were just… overreacting. Other staff have seen them around, sure, but no-one’s reported aggressive behaviour or anything like that. You know how those two are. Jon puts on a good show, but sometimes I swear he’s worse than Martin. Is that on?" Elias pointed at the tape recorder Tim held. 

"I-- what?" Tim asked. He looked at it, tape still spinning away, "Yes?"

"Why is that what you're focussing on right now?" Sasha, her voice high and disbelieving.

Elias clasped his hands behind his back and gave her a tight smile, "I just thought Jon would appreciate as many supplementary recordings as possible. For the record." 

"Well for the record," Sasha spat, "if we don't do _something_ , Jon might not be around to appreciate anything!" 

"Or Martin for that matter, they're both still trapped down there, Elias," Tim added, matching her vitriol. 

"I don't know what you _think_ is going on, but we saw thousands of, of flesh worms pour into the Archives! And why hasn't the suppression system gone off?"

"Ah," Elias said, rocking back on the balls of his feet, "while there is generally a delay between the alarm going off and the carbon dioxide being released to allow for an evacuation due to carbon dioxide being… hazardous for people to inhale compared to your more traditional oxygen, it's probably not going to go off. There isn't an actual fire." 

"Right," Sasha said, running a hand through her hair, tugging at the coils. Tim squeezed her hand and she let the one in her hair fall to her side with a smack, "Right."

"It was a good move," Elias said, his voice slippery as silk, "it's evacuated the rest of the staff. Unfortunately, that leaves just the three of us to deal with the worm." 

"What, are you saying we just arm ourselves with fire extinguishers and try taking them on? Because if that's your suggestion I can tell you right now that it's not going to work, Elias. There's way too many of them." And Tim wasn't entirely sure how long he was going to be able to stay vertical with the adrenaline already beginning to leech from his system. His shoulder throbbed in time to his pulse. 

Elias gave Tim a thin smile, "That's not quite what I had in mind, no. The fire suppression system could still work." 

"Of course, we can set it off manually. I _think_ Jon's got a lighter somewhere, maybe--" 

"He's not smoking again, is he?" Elias asked.

Tim tensed. Jon hadn't smoked in years, not since before he joined the Institute. Tim knew because Jon had told him so when he accidentally ran across Jon taking his break outside. He'd made some joke or another about needing a puff himself and Jon had just rolled his eyes before telling Tim that he didn't smoke anymore, he just liked the ritual of taking a moment to just focus on breathing. When Sasha had made an off hand mentioned that Jon had a lighter, Tim had nabbed the thing. He'd given Jon a grin that was maybe a touch forced and said that he didn't carry around a bottle opener anymore. Jon had just nodded, a little tension bleeding from his shoulders. Tim coughed, drawing both Elias and Sasha's attention. He wasn't sure why he'd wanted their attention, but he had it so he blurted, "Actually he doesn't have a lighter, because I have it. Borrowed it. _Think_ I left it in my car."

"You smoke?" Sasha asked. Then she waved that question away, "Nevermind, not important." 

"Regardless," Elias continued, a tightness to his jaw as his eyes bore down on Tim. It was the same feeling he'd gotten from Jane Prentiss, her puffy, bloodshot, yellowed eyes trained on him, ravenous, "a fire will not be necessary. No, there's a manual release a few floors down." 

"Wait," Tim said, his brain feeling like a quaking bowl of porridge under the weight of Elias' gaze, "Won't this hurt Martin and Jon?" 

Elias cocked an eyebrow, "Almost certainly. I did mention it was hazardous, didn't I? I _really_ don’t want to have to find another Archivist so quickly after Gertrude, but from what you say… it might be a mercy." Elias turned his gaze to Sasha, "You two know the situation best, so…?" 

Tim and Sasha shared a look. Sasha set her jaw, "Let's go." 

~

"Right, there we go," Jon said from his spot by the cot where Sasha had knocked the recorder across the floor when she'd shoved Martin back, "Martin, what do you see?" 

Jon looked haggard, the bags under his eyes had been there since Martin had met him, but he was pretty sure they'd gotten darker and filled out more over the past few months. Stick thin, stubble that was less five o'clock shadow and more a 48 o'clock shadow. The bandage around his leg was tinged pink where the worms had burrowed and his trousers leg was still hiked up. Blood stained the beige slacks and somehow the light blue dress shirt he wore.

"Martin," Jon said. 

"Right, sorry, what?" Martin looked away from Jon. He chided himself for staring and rubbed at the warmth in the cheek facing Jon. 

Jon let out a huff, "What can you see? I can't really stand up yet. I need you to tell me what's happening. For the record." Jon gestured at the tape recorder balanced on his outstretched, injured leg.

"Ah, yeah. Sure. So, um, Sasha tackled Tim and there was kind of a struggle, but she grabbed him and they made it out of the Archives. That, that was about two minutes ago, and they've gone to get help. P-Probably. I mean, they, they couldn’t… they wouldn’t just run so…," Martin could feel his breath catching. 

"Did it look like any of the worms… got them?" 

Martin squeezed his eyes shut, "Uh, no I don't think so. It was hard to tell after she tackled him. There was just a lot of movement and, and shouting and, and wriggling…"

"Martin." 

Martin shut up. 

"How about the worms?"

Martin glanced out the window, "Not much. They're just… there."

"How many?" 

" _Too_ many," Martin could feel his heart constrict with anxiety. The storage room floor was made of concrete. Tim mentioned once after a particularly rough 72 hours where he barely got three hours of sleep that the stage room wasn't on the original floor plans and was a fairly recent addition to the Archives which was why it wasn't the same tile flooring as the rest of the Archives. Further proof of this Tim had told him was that there weren't any cracks in the floor from the building settling or the gradual shift in the crust of the earth. It had reassured Martin then, but not so much now as he watched the tiles crack and crumble as worms pushed through them, "and more keep coming up through the floor. I didn't think they could get through!" 

"Prentiss?" 

"No, I can’t see--" It was just worms and worms and, oh? Worms. Everywhere. Their desks. Jon's office. Waste bins. Crawling up the walls and the crank operated stacks and he was pretty sure the lump of worms on Tim's desk had been a sandwich just a minute ago his eyes shot to the side at a flash of red and movement--, "Oh. There she is." 

"What's she doing?"

"I don’t know," Martin said, squinting and very intentionally ignored the worms starting to climb over the glass, leaving a trail of semi-opaque brown residue in their wake. Jane Prentiss hauled one of the many case file boxes by Sasha's desk up and onto the desk proper, "She’s messing with the boxes. She’s holding one up and… ugh." 

"What?" 

"She's… she's destroying them. Sort of." 

It was like the first time he'd encountered Jane Prentiss, when she'd hacked into the handkerchief, a viscous substance that reeked like the bed of a river, a wet and encompassing decay. But it seemed thicker now and there was much more of it. It bubbled out of her exposed esophagus, chunks of flesh occasionally giving as--

"Sort of?" Jon asked. 

  
  


Martin tore his eyes from the window and to Jon and said, "Well, I don’t really know what that stuff coming out of her mouth is, but I think we should probably burn them. God, I hope she didn't find the ones with the spare CO2 in them." 

"What spare CO2? Why would spare CO2 be in the case file boxes?" Jon asked.

  
  


"Oh, er," Martin felt familiar heat flare in his cheeks, "because I put them there?" 

Jon gave him a blank look. 

  
  


Martin let himself slump to the floor, hands pushing up his glasses to rub at his eyes, "So the worms didn't know where they were! It's stupid, I know--"

"Yes," the blur that was Jon nodded vigorously, eyebrows pushing up his forehead, "Yes it is. They’re just… they’re just unclassified parasites. They don’t have consciousness, they can’t plan, they’re just an unthinking infection." 

"Seriously?!" Martin said, yanking down his glasses and bringing Jon back into focus, "Why do you _do_ that!" 

Jon folded his arms across his chest, shoulders creeping up, "Do what?" 

"Push the sceptic thing _so_ hard!? I mean, it made sense at first, but _now_? After everything we’ve seen, after everything you’ve read! I hear you recording statements and y-you just dismiss them. You tear them to pieces like they’re wasting your time, but half of the “rational” explanations you give are actually more far-fetched than just accepting it was a, a ghost or something! I mean for god’s _sake_ , Jon, we’re literally hiding from some kind of worm… queen… thing, how, how could you possibly still not believe!?" 

"Of course I believe!" Jon retaliated. And then he shrunk in on himself and added quieter, "Of course I do. Have you ever taken a look at the stuff we have in Artefact Storage? That’s enough to convince anyone. But, but even before that… Why do you think I started working here? It’s not exactly glamorous. I have… I’ve always believed in the supernatural. Within reason. I mean. I still think most of the statements down here aren’t real. Of the hundreds I’ve recorded, we’ve had maybe… thirty, forty that are… that go on tape. Now, those, I believe, at least for the most part."

"Then why do you--" Martin. 

Jon squeezed his eyes shut, his hands twisting into the fabric of his dress shirt, "Because I’m scared, Martin! Because when I record these statements it feels… it feels like I’m being watched. I… I lose myself a bit. And then when I come back, it’s like… like if I admit there may be any truth to it, whatever’s watching will… know somehow. The scepticism, feigning ignorance. It just felt safer." 

  
  
  
  


"Well," Martin shifted his weight, the steam he'd built up evaporating as quickly as it had come, "It wasn't."

  
  
  
  


Jon let a puff of air that might have been a laugh if it weren't for the fact that they were two co-workers stuck in a storage room where one of them had been living for the past few months, waiting to see if they were going to be on the menu for a woman made of worms, "No. No it wasn't. Still, it’s not my fault we’re going to be eaten by worms."

  
  
  
  


Martin rolled his eyes. Count on Jon to get the last word in. Stubborn. 

After a stretch of quiet Jon cleared his throat, and Martin raised an eyebrow at him. 

"Why are you here, Martin?" Jon asked. He was leaned up against the cot, cheek pressed into the cushion of it, eyes a touch glassy. 

"Because Prentiss is out there and you can't run, so--" Martin swore to himself if Jon tried playing the martyr and told Martin to leave him behind, he might have to strangle Jon. 

Jon rolled his eyes.

Martin made a sound of indignation. 

"I mean the Archives in general. Why haven't you quit?" 

He blinked at Jon. And then the indignation boiled over, "Are you giving me my review _now_?" 

"No…," Jon sat upright and worked his jaw as he thought for a minute. When he started again it was disjointed, as if he had the idea of what he was meaning but it was a thousand piece puzzle and he could only put it together one piece at a time, building up speed as he went along and the image came into focus, "We’re clearly doing a whole heart-to-heart thing and, truth be told, the question’s been bothering me. You’ve been living in the Archives for four months, constant threat of… this. Sleeping with a fire extinguisher and a corkscrew. Even you must be aware that that’s not normal for an archiving job. Why are you still here?" 

Martin pressed his lips flat at "even you must be aware" a loose thread of his sweater becoming quite interesting. How Jon knew he'd been sleeping with a fire extinguisher and corkscrew... probably just conjecture. Maybe. He knew it cut a pretty pathetic picture, but he honestly didn't think Jon could him in any lower regard than he already did. He swallowed and shrugged, "Don’t really know. I just am. It didn’t feel right to just leave. I’ve typed up a few resignation letters, but I just couldn’t bring myself to hand them in. I’m trapped here. It’s like I can’t… move on and the more I struggle, the more I’m stuck." 

It wasn't the full truth. And maybe Jon would think him an idiot. More of an idiot. Technically by Jon's logic they were both stupid idiots, neither had left despite, well, everything, and he didn't think if they made it through Jane Prentiss' siege on the Institute that either of them would. But better to be thought of as an idiot than risk getting fired for lying on his resume and then having to force his mother to move back in with him until he could find a job to cover the nursing home expenses and her medications and doctor's appointments and _shit_ , his landlord, his mother couldn't move in--

Jon interrupted his circling thoughts, "Martin… You’re not, uh… You didn’t die here, did you?" 

"What?" Martin stared at Jon, processing what he'd just asked, anxiety attack abating for a moment. Jon shifted under his scrutiny and Martin could swear he saw the skin of Jon's cheeks darken, "What, n-no… what?" 

"No, i just…," Jon was looking everywhere but at Martin and his cheeks were definitely a darker shade of brown than the rest of his face, "No just the way you phrased it--"

"Made you think I was a _ghost_?" 

"No, it's…" Jon opened his mouth, but after a moment closed it again and just wrapped his arms around his middle. 

Martin shook his head, and waved a hand at the air as if to dispel what Jon had just said, "No, no it's… it’s just that whatever web," he didn't miss the way Jon flinched at the word, "these statements have caught you in, well, I’m there too. We all are, I think." 

Jon sat mulling that over. 

"A _ghost_? _Really_?" 

Jon leaned back into the cot, once more resting his head on the cushion and shooting Martin a weak glare said, "Shut up, Martin."

~

"Shit, shit, shit," Tim said, their pounding footsteps ringing through the empty halls of the institute. 

Sasha gripped his hand tighter, "Did you see which way Elias went?" 

"No, I was hoping you did!" 

"I didn't!"

"Then where are we going?" 

Sasha checked the hall signs as the sounds of squirming worms behind them cause the hair on her neck to stand on end. Three more turns to go. 

"Sasha!" Tim called 

"Artifact Storage!" 

"Don't you hate-"

"Yes, I hate Artifact Storage, Tim, but it's the closest secure place I can think that the worms won't be able to get into! I'm open to suggestions if you know of somewhere else!" 

Tim was quiet.

Sasha silently cursed. She'd been hoping he might have known somewhere else. She supposed she would be breaking her promise she'd made of never going to Artifact Storage again. 

"Wait-" Tim said, spiking Sasha's heart rate, "We don't need a secure room. I can set off the fire alarm, I just need a little time." 

"Why didn't you mention that before?!" 

"Because Elias shut the idea down when you mentioned it!" 

Sasha processed that, "You want to start a fire?"

"Got it in one, Sash. I may have lied about leaving Jon's lighter in my car." 

Sasha laughed. It wasn't particularly funny, but tears of relief pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she felt delirious on adrenaline and endorphins.

"In my defense, I didn't exactly want Elias knowing I was getting high on the clock. And besides, he was being weird," Tim panted. He tugged at Sasha's hand, "I mean, more so than his normal "eccentric, rich, white guy" weird. The next one, it's printing. Plenty of fuel." 

"Are you sure?" 

"The room? Yes, absolutely p-" 

Sasha rolled her eyes and grabbed the handle of the door to printing, yanking it open. 

"Ah, Elias then."

"Tim," Sasha said as she shut the door and shrugged off her sweater to stuff into the crack at the bottom of the door. When she stood Tim had armed himself with a sheaf of paper and the lighter, tape recorder resting on the printer. 

Tim dragged the lone chair in the room to the middle, beneath the blinking smoke detector, "Right, not the time." 

"Definitely not the time!"

"Yes, I'm sure. About Elias," Tim climbed on the only chair in the room. Once he was balanced he fished out the spiderweb lighter. He held the paper and lighter to the ceiling near the smoke detector and grinned, just a little too hard to be a genuine Tim Stoker grin. He was shaking slightly and looked clammy, "I'll tell you all about it when we're on the other side of this. Ready?" 

Sasha took in a deep breath and nodded. 

"Then here goes nothing." 

~

"Christ, Jon, what do we- what do we do?!" Martin gasped out, eyes fixed on the dark spot that had been gradually growing on the wall over the past few minutes. He tried not to think of how it seemed to be at head level for the average person or that it was the colour of whatever Jane Prentiss had been spitting up earlier, a very difficult feat to accomplish considering the steady knocking on the wall was almost certainly Prentiss. 

Jon was stood upright, clinging to the arm of Martin's sweater with not even a foot of space between them, "I- I don't know, that wall should be solid-" 

"Like the wall of your office was supposed to be solid?!"

"We don’t have any sort of weapon, do we?" In his periphery Martin could see Jon frantically searching the room with his eyes. Martin started to raise the hand with the corkscrew in it, "Don't say the corkscrew!"

Martin glanced at the window, covered in undulating worms. He looked at the growing dark spot, watched as mold sprouted and flowered as the wall warped and bloated. 

"Can you run?" Martin whispered. Or, sue him, maybe it was closer to a whimper.

He felt Jon's grip on the arm of his sweater tighten, "Might be able to walk." 

Martin nodded and drew in a deep breath. He shut his eyes for a second and then turned to Jon. Jon didn't meet his eyes. Martin let out his breath in a rush, "Don't be mad." 

Which was all the warning he gave before he ducked down and threw Jon over his shoulder. He shoved the door open. Behind him, Martin heard an impact and the crunch of drywall and something wet burst, and then he was sprinting into the Archives, ankle deep in worms. They popped underfoot as he charged towards the stairwell and he winced as he felt a few bite him and slowly start to burrow.

He almost fell when the room was rocked by a thousand voices that were one ask, " _Do you hear their song?"_

  
  


He definitely whimpered in response, the pressure of tears building behind his eyes. Jon's hands clung to the back of Martin's sweater, a sharp elbow dug against his spine. 

"Oh god," Jon's voice trembled, a barely there whisper as another crunch rang out from behind them. 

Martin took that as a sign and pushed himself faster towards the stairwell door.

_ "Archivist, do. You. Hear. Their. Song?"  _

Martin slammed the stairwell door open and then jolted to a stop. A wash of worms pushed back and swallowed his legs almost up to his knees, "No, no, no, no!" 

"Martin, Martin, what's-" he could feel Jon twisting to look at what had brought Martin up short, "Oh."

  
  


The worms were shallow in the Archives, but in the stairwell they were almost up to the handrail, a twisting, silvery river of worms cascading upwards. Martin looked between the stairs and the storage room with a half emerged Prentiss.

He ran for Jon's office. 

The worms had thinned almost to the point of exposing the floor in the office proper. He lowered Jon to his feet and the moment the other man was steady started tearing open old case file boxes. The first extinguisher he found he pulled the pin on and sprayed down his legs. 

Jon started backwards.

"S-sorry, sorry," Martin said and then offered Jon the extinguisher, "worms." 

"Are they dead?" 

"Does it look like we have time to check?" Martin sorted through the boxes, pulling out two more extinguishers. His legs ached, the dry chemical of the fire extinguisher tinged pink. He handed another extinguisher to Jon and then peered into the sizable hole in the wall of Jon's office. 

"You're not seriously thinking of going in there are you?" Jon hissed. 

Martin rounded on him, "Yes! I am! Jane Prentiss broke into the storage room which- which was supposed to be safe, the stairwell will probably get us eaten before we even make it to the landing, you can't run! All I know is that Jane Prentiss somehow got down here and that means there's probably a way back out. So- so unless you have any other suggestions, Jon, spooky worm entrance looks like our best option!"

  
  


"I-" Jon cut himself short. He looked at the Archives, "Fine. I don't. Are you going to carry me again?" 

"Have you suddenly regained the ability to run?"

  
  


Jon shifted his weight onto his bad leg and winced, "I'm not the only one hurt, Martin." 

"Christ you're difficult," Martin muttered. He grabbed Jon's arm and dragged the both of them into the hole. 

~

Elias Bouchard slowed to a walk. It was a good show having the worms separate him from Sasha and Tim. The corruption always had been quite easy to manipulate, and with the Mother of Puppets at work in the shadows. Well. He'd have to properly toast the Web after the Apocalypse was under way. 

For now he walked the halls, worms shuddering away from him as he made his way to the manual release. Sasha and Tim were still running from the worms, Sasha calling out that they'd hide in Artifact Storage. That would do nicely. He redirected his gaze to the Archives, Martin with Jon over one shoulder as they fled from Prentiss. Martin was such a lovely addition to the Archives, his fear a bright, radiant thing, ever present even under the best of circumstances. And with Jon as his superordinate he was never under the best of circumstances. Jon who overcompensated at finding himself completely inept for the role of an Archivist and capitalized on Martin's own inadequacies.

Elias sneered, he would have to do something about that budding crush Martin had begun nurturing for Jon. It curdled the fear which he lapped up in each shuddering breath Martin took, souring the otherwise succulent and adrenaline sweet spasms of his heart and making discord out of the sweet song his nerves sang as they sparked and sizzled in pain. 

In contrast to the spoiled heat of Martin's fear, Jon's was the coldest arctic night and was all the sweeter for it. It immobilized, it preserved. He was the perfect voyeur. Elias could count on a single hand how many times Jon had blinked in the minute between Martin busting them out of the storage room and reaching the stairwell. 

And wasn't that a pleasant sight, the flow of Crawling Rot pulsing upwards, glinting as they squirmed under the stark, florescent lights. The dread that unspooled in Martin and then Jon, their sharp, metallic desperation. 

Elias' fingers twitched at the manual release. Maybe that budding crush would come in handy, maybe he'd risk certain death for Jon. He'd gotten himself trapped in his flat for two weeks because of Jon and that had been before he'd grown his affliction of a crush. Perhaps death wasn't off the table. How far would he make it? The first landing? The second? Martin's legs were already shaking with the worms eating into his legs, how far would the adrenaline get him? Elias trembled in rapture. 

But then the door shut and Elias jolted back as Martin tore that hypothetical asunder and turned instead to Jon's office. As he eased Jon to standing and sorted through the boxes and armed the both of them with extinguishers, as he plunged them both into the tunnels and out of Elias' sight. 

He felt a white hot rage ignite within him as if he were a devotee to the Lightless Flame and not the Ceaseless Watcher. 

And then, as if to add insult to injury, the fire suppressant system was triggered. He snapped his gaze to Artefact Storage and came up short two archival assistants.

He used every painting, every carved eye decal in the stone and wood that made up the institute and finally found them passed out in the printing room, a sheaf of smoldering paper and Jon's lighter on the floor by Tim. Blood was pooling around his head, a nasty gash cut across his forehead. Brilliant red painted a corner of the bulky printer.

There was naught much for it. Elias turned back to the Archives and watched as Jane Prentiss and all her worms died, hatred coursing through his veins. He fed on what was left of her fear and pain as she wailed with every last one of her impossible voices before collapsing in a pile of rot.

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyyo, trying to get back into the practice of writing and also wanted to do a Sasha lived fic bc I have some THOUGHTS. Idk if I can do a whole release schedule for chapters just bc my adhd and deadlines are not friends but I've got a decent amount written out so hopefully it's more frequently than not? 
> 
> And hey! If you enjoyed this, please hit me up with those comments and kudos! You can also check me out on all other social media, I'm ismatscaff literally everywhere and rn I'm actually working on a Magnus Archives tarot card art bc I thought it would be cool lol


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